


Resonance

by JackShirogane



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions, Pocket Monsters: Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon | Pokemon Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon Versions
Genre: AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Male Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I couldn't resist I'm so sorry, I gave Kukui a first name because it felt weird to just call him Kukui the whole time, I love angst if you can't tell, I'll do the same for Burnet, I'm so sorry, M/M, No pokemon AU, Past Character Death, Post-Canon, Poverty, Suicidal Thoughts, This idea came to me in the middle of the night
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 01:58:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackShirogane/pseuds/JackShirogane
Summary: Guzma is stuck in a rut. He's well past a young adult, working minimum wage and barely surviving. One day, he's working the night shift when he sees Kukui after three years. However, Kukui has changed, and so has he. Guzma needs to figure out a way to save both of them, and fast, but what can a big bad boss like him possibly do about it?





	Resonance

Guzma hadn’t expected his life to have gone the way it had. At thirty-two years old, he was the textbook definition of a loser. Since Team Skull had disbanded three years prior, Guzma had fallen into the grips of poverty. Of course, no one had come to his aid. No one wanted to help a big, bad delinquent like him. He’d gotten over it long ago; he needed to move on with his life, find a job and start doing something with his life. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. It had taken a year of constant interviews to find a place who’d take a gang leader, and had it not been for Nanu reluctantly helping him, he wouldn’t have the job that he did. Nanu had offered Guzma a place to shower and a meal every now and again, but for the most part, he’d been surviving on his own wit. He’d roomed in the abandoned Skull hideout, and had used the money he had saved to buy himself just enough food to survive. It was by the grace of Arceus itself that he had gotten a job as his funds ran low.  
He could see the next customer coming towards him. He hated bagging groceries, but it gave him a good source of food, though he’d sworn he wouldn’t steal anymore unless he needed it. However, with the pitiful wage he was making, even working full time was barely enough to pay the rent. He wanted to change, but it seemed the world was against him. 

Guzma sighed. His shift was over in just over an hour. It was nearly ten o’clock at night, and he longed for the sweet embrace of sleep. Most people would fear walking alone in his neighborhood at night, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d never had a problem, and if he did, he was always ready for a fight. He guessed some things would never change.  
The next customer was fine. She was an older woman, and he scanned her cart, watching the way she glared at his tattoos. It was typical. He bagged her items and she was on her way; he preferred her to the people who would make comments. He chuckled a little. He didn’t care. He was proud of his time in Skull, and he tried to interpret their words as signs of jealousy. Of course, he didn’t really believe it, but he wouldn’t admit that, even to himself.  
There was a long pause between the older lady and the next customer. It was late; everyone was home already, getting ready for bed. The dim lights and the quiet music in the background really lulled him to sleep, and given the pitiful amount of sleep he got, sometimes he drifted off behind the counter. Thankfully, he hadn’t been caught yet. Tonight, though, he was determined to stay awake. 

He couldn’t see the next customer’s face. It was covered with a huge black hood, and his body was wrapped in a winter coat that he assumed was stuffed with feathers. He only knew that he was a man because he’d caught a glimpse of his unshaved face. If Guzma weren’t so seasoned, he might have been a little afraid of this man. His cart was pretty much empty, save for a two cases of cheap beer and five frozen pizzas. This guy was a mess, Guzma thought. He pushed the cart slowly, as though it hurt, and stopped at a few racks. One full of flowers, another holding chocolate. He looked at them, seeming to inspect them closely, but turned around without taking anything off of them. Slowly, almost painfully, he was approaching Guzma’s aisle. The man hauled the cases onto the counter, and Guzma scanned them, watching the man’s slow movements. He shifted from foot to foot as he waited, his breath heavy.

“I need to see your ID,” Guzma said hoarsely. The man was still for a few seconds, but finally sighed and took out his wallet. He fumbled through it, pulling out a driver’s license. He pushed the cart to the side, trying to squeeze past it. He was almost to the other side when he tripped. He landed ungracefully on his face with a groan. Guzma leaned over the counter to look down at him. He didn’t seem to be moving. “Sir, you need to get up,” he’d said before he heard what was unmistakably a sob. Arceus, he thought. This guy really was a mess. He sighed loudly, and left his spot behind the counter. Each step seemed slower than the last, until finally the man was right below him. 

“Hey man, I’ll help you up,” he croaked, his voice failing him.

The man let out another sob before he began to heave himself up. Guzma held out a hand. A few seconds had passed before Guzma thought he wouldn’t take it, but finally, he did. He pulled on Guzma hard; thankfully, he’d braced himself. 

“Sorry,” he said shakily, his head deeply bowed. His face was still concealed. Chills ran down Guzma’s spine. His eyes drifted to the floor where the man had fallen, and noticed that his driver’s license was lying face down on the floor. 

“You dropped this,” he said quietly, and bent to pick it up. He held it out, when the man finally lifted his head. Guzma dropped the license. He bent down quickly to pick it up, and practically shoved it at the man. He took it gingerly.

Guzma didn’t ID him. The man had paid with some grimy bills, and left. However, this was far from the end for Guzma. His shift ended without another customer, which left him alone with his thoughts. He was shaken. 

The walk home was normal. He hauled himself up the hill, his feet aching as always. He hadn’t seen anyone, which made his life easier. Once he got back to his apartment, he collapsed onto the bed. He didn’t even bother to take his clothes off. He was exhausted, but he tried to keep his hope. Before he fell asleep, he decided to take a cold shower. He didn’t usually care to shower at night, but he needed to think, and the shower was the best place to do it. He switched on the water, and took off his clothes. He looked down at himself. His body wasn’t as lean as it used to be; he’d grown thin, and his pale skin had broken out in shades of light purple. The bags under his eyes had become more pronounced; they’re always shown, but he could no longer avoid the stares. He had no right to judge anyone else, he thought idly as he stepped in the freezing water. He was a mess, just as much as anyone else. The water would have been unbearably cold to many, but it was the only thing keeping Guzma focused. Every time he stopped thinking, his mind drifted to the man from the grocery store. His body crumpled in a shudder every time he thought of his face.

He was done with his shower a few minutes later, and he got into his pajamas. He’d had the baggy black pants since he was nineteen, but they were his favorite, and he couldn’t bear to go without them. He laid back down, more gracefully this time. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning before he could finally sleep. He laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. Those numb, lifeless eyes were flashing through his vision. He tried to deny it, or tell himself it was someone else, but he knew that it was him, no matter how hard he fought it. Yes, he thought. When the man lifted his head, Guzma had been staring at the broken, sobbing face of Makaio Kukui.


End file.
